His Thirty-Day Fiancée

Meanwhile, it wouldn’t hurt to keep her on her toes. “Make your call quickly. You have until I’ve changed for our appearance downstairs.”

With slow and unmistakably sexual deliberation, he untied the belt on his workout clothes.

Kate damn near swallowed her tongue. “Uh, do you want me to step into the hall?”

“You promised to use speakerphone, remember?” Duarte turned his back to her but he didn’t leave. He simply strode toward the mahogany armoire.

The jacket slid from his shoulders.

Holy hell.

He draped the black silk over one of the open cabinet doors, muscles shifting along his back. She saw sparks like a camera flash snapping behind her retinas.

Oh. Right. She needed to breathe.

God, this man was ripped with long, lean—lethal—definition. She’d felt those muscles up close when she’d fallen against him on the balcony.

How much further would he carry this little display? Her fingers had been wowed, for sure, but her photographer eyes picked up everything she’d missed in that frantic moment earlier.

She was female. With a heartbeat. And swaying on her feet. The cell phone bit into her tight grip, reminding her of the reason she’d come here in the first place. Keeping Jennifer happy and secure was top priority.

Thumbing in her sister’s number, she considered blowing off the whole speakerphone issue. But she’d probably pushed her luck far enough tonight. There was no reason not to let him hear and he would have Jennifer’s number anyway now that it was stored in his cell history…. And hey, might Jennifer have his as well after this call? Interesting. She would have to check once she could steal a moment away from him. She activated the speaker phone just as her sister picked up.

“Hello?” Jennifer’s voice came through, hesitant, confused. “Who’s this?”

“Jennifer? It’s Katie, calling from a, uh, friend’s phone.” Her eyes zipped back to Duarte and his silky pants riding low on his trim hips. “I have some important news for you.”

“Are you coming to see me?” She pictured Jennifer in her pj’s, eating popcorn with other residents at the first-rate facility outside Boston.

“Not tonight, sweetie.” She had a date with an honest-to-God prince. The absurdity of it all bubbled hysteria in her throat.

“Then when?”

That depended on a certain sexy stranger who was currently getting mouth-wateringly naked.

“I’m not sure, Jennifer, but I promise to try my best to make it as soon as possible.”

Duarte pulled out a tuxedo and hung it on the door. She caught the reflection of his chest in the mirror inside the wardrobe. The expanse of chest she’d only seen a slice of from his open jacket—

“Katie?” Jennifer’s voice cut through the airwaves. “What’s your news?”

“Oh, uh…” She gulped in air for confidence—and to still her stuttering heart as Duarte knelt to select shoes. “I’m engaged.”

“To be married?” Jennifer squealed. “When?”

Wincing, Kate opted to deliberately misunderstand the whole timing question since there wasn’t going to be a wedding. “He gave me a ring tonight.”

“And you said yes.” Her sister squealed again, her high-pitched excitement echoing around the room. “Who is he?”

At least she could answer the second question honestly. “He’s someone I met through work. His name is Duarte.”

“Duarte? That’s a funny name. I’ve never heard it before. Do you think he would mind if I call him Artie? I like art class.”

He glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow arched, his first sign that he even noticed or cared that she was still in the room while he stripped.

Kate cradled the phone. “Artie is a nice name, but I think he prefers Duarte.”

A quick smile chased across his face before he turned back to the tux. His thumbs hooked in the waistband of his whispery black workout pants. Oh, boy. Her breath went heavy in her lungs and she couldn’t peel her eyes off him to save her soul. So silly. So wrong. And so compelling in his arrogant confidence.

Then she realized he was watching her watch him in the mirror. His eyes were dark and unreadable. But he wasn’t laughing or mocking, because that would have shown, surely.

Silence stretched between them, his thumbs still hooked on the waistband. His biceps flexed in anticipation of motion.

She spun away, zeroing in on the conversation instead of the man. “You will probably see something in the paper, so I want you to understand. Duarte is a real-life Prince Charming.”

God, it galled her to say that.

The whistle of sliding fabric carried, the squeak of the floor as he must have shuffled from foot to foot to step out of his pants.

“A Prince Charming? Like in the stories?” Jennifer gasped. “Cool. I can’t wait to tell my friends.”

What would all those friends think and say when they learned he was a prince in more than some fairy-tale fashion? Would people try to get to Duarte through especially vulnerable Jennifer? The increasing complications of what she’d committed to hit her. “Sweetie, please promise me that if people ask you any questions, you just tell them to ask your sister. Okay?”

Jennifer hesitated, background sounds of a television and bingo game bleeding through. “For how long?”

“I’ll talk to you by tomorrow morning. I swear.” And she always kept her promises to Jennifer. She always would.

“Okay, I promise, too. Not a word. Cross my heart. Love you, Katie.”

“I love you, too, Jennifer. Forever and always.”

The phone line went dead and Katie wondered if she’d done the right thing. Bottom line, she had to provide for her sister and right now her options were limited. The lure of those wedding photos tempted her. A family member, Duarte had said. One of his brothers? An unknown cousin? His father even?

A hanger clanked behind her and she resisted the urge to pivot back around. Right now she cursed her artistic imagination as it filled in the blanks. In her mind’s eye, she could see those hard, long legs sliding into the fine fabric tailored to fit him. The zipper rasped and she decided it was safe to look.

Although that also put his chest back in her line of sight. He was facing her now, pulling his undershirt over his head, shoes on, his tuxedo pants a perfect fit as predicted. As the cotton cleared his face, his eyes were undiluted. And she could read him well now.

She saw desire.

Duarte was every bit as turned on as she was, which seemed ironic given she was wearing that god-awful dress and he was putting on a custom-cut tuxedo. Somewhere in that contrast, a compliment to her lurked if he could see past the thrift-store trappings of her unflattering dress.

“We need to talk about my sister,” she blurted.

“Speak,” he commanded.

Duarte carried this autocratic-prince thing a little far, but she wasn’t in the mood to call him on it. She had other more pressing matters to address, making sure he fully understood about her sister.

“Earlier, I told you that my sister has special needs. I imagine you couldn’t misunderstand after hearing our conversation.” Hearing the childlike wordings with an adult pitch.